


the once maiden of spring

by ohwhatagloomyshow



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Demeter - freeform, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Persephone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 21:38:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15916764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwhatagloomyshow/pseuds/ohwhatagloomyshow
Summary: "As she reads, she realizes she’s heard this story before – the Queen of the Underworld, the Maiden of Spring, who chose to remain among the dead for half the year, consuming her six pomegranate seeds.She didn’t realize there was more to it. She didn’t realize Persephone was tricked into eating the seeds.She didn’t realize Persephone had a mother."Shout out to writer Beatrice_Sank and her work "Echo, laying naked by the well in the woods," which gave me the push I needed to publish a work combining Twin Peaks and Greek mythology! (Go read it!)





	the once maiden of spring

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Echo, laying naked by the well in the woods](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15876948) by [Beatrice_Sank](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Sank/pseuds/Beatrice_Sank). 



There are times, when BOB appears, that she tries to distract herself with stories.

Any story, really. Retelling the events of the earlier hours, remembering the events of the last half-watched TV show. When she was younger, she focused on fairytales – always with the knight slaying the dragon and saving the princess. By her teens, they had evolved into fantasies of the princess slaying the dragon herself, hands covered in blood as she eats the dragon’s heart. Those stories hadn’t lasted long, though – she had exhausted her repertoire before her sixteenth birthday.

The events of the day are the easier stories to tell, even as her memories are diluted in places. She describes herself waking up, the texture of her bedsheets and pajamas. The taste of breakfast, the sounds of Donna’s laugh and Bobby’s catcalls. The school bells, the blow, the walk home. The grind of steak between her teeth. She drags it out as long as possible, as long as it takes for BOB to leave.

By the time he leaves that January morning, she had just gotten to the end of lunch period. He vanishes through the window, and Laura sighs, and sighs, and lets herself cry just for a second – a moment’s indulgence of self-pity.

And then she stands and cleans herself with the wipes and towels she keeps tucked in her closet. She is sore, and exhausted, but unable to return to that bed – not yet. As she scans her room – languidly, looking for any kind of distraction other than the comfort of her blow – she remembers how lunch ended.

_“You should go through this!” Donna had spent nearly the entire period describing an historical assignment on ancient Greece and Rome, a bizarre occurrence as she generally preferred to spend lunch gossiping and coming up with plans for the weekend. Laura had phased in and out of the conversation, but then she couldn’t ignore the thick black tome shoved in front of her face._

__

__

_“It’s this collection – well – of Greek and Roman myths,” Donna explained, lamely, as she placed a softcover copy of Edith Hamilton’s_ Mythology _in Laura’s hands. “You should go through it,” she repeated with a casual shrug, as Laura brought her eyes to Donna’s face. “Let me know what your favorite is!” Obediently, Laura placed the book in her bag, and forgot about it at her next inhale of cocaine._

With some sense of purpose, Laura takes the steps to her bag resting on her desk. She finds the book easily, and stares into the black cover, eyes skipping over the warrior on the winged white horse. With her free hand, she locates her diary; after two lines, she turns her bedroom lamp on, and settles comfortably into her chair.

In middle school it had seemed like every kid was obsessed with these stories – it felt like every kid had their own genre of stories to obsess over. Laura could only tell herself the same fairytale, with few minor variations; the ancient gods had never held her interest.

But now she settles into her chair, browsing the table of contents. The book smells like old glue, and it’s comforting. Nothing stands out, but she does pause at the list of “Eight Brief Tales of Lovers,” knowing that Donna’s favorite is certainly one of them. Just to be thorough, she checks the list of illustrations, too, wondering mildly if any show a gladiator being torn apart by a lion’s teeth. That could be fun.

Her heart stops, suddenly, at the third title. “The Rape of Persephone,” on page 59.

It’s less exciting than she had hoped, but she’s grateful for that, too. A chariot pulled by two horses flies down into a chasm. A man in a helmet – a god, she figures – clasps a woman to his side, a woman with flowing robes and hair, who reaches desperately for the sky.

And so, at seventeen, she finds a new story to tell herself.

As she reads, she realizes she’s heard this story before – the Queen of the Underworld, the Maiden of Spring, who chose to remain among the dead for half the year, consuming her six pomegranate seeds.

She didn’t realize there was more to it. She didn’t realize Persephone was tricked into eating the seeds.

She didn’t realize Persephone had a mother.

_He bore her away, weeping, down to the underworld. The high hills echoed her cry and the depths of the sea, and her mother heard it. She sped like a bird over sea and land seeking her daughter. Nine days Demeter wandered, and all that time she would not taste of ambrosia or put sweet nectar to her lips._

She only realizes she’s crying when a teardrop stains the page. Once noticed, she’s unable to stop herself. Her vision blurs with the onslaught of tears.

_That year was most dreadful and cruel for mankind over all the earth. Nothing grew; no seeds sprang up; in vain the oxen drew the plowshare through the furrow. It seemed the whole race of men would die of famine. At last Zeus saw that he must take the matter in hand. He sent the gods to Demeter, one after another, to try to turn her from her anger, but she listened to none of them. Never would she let the earth bear fruit until she had seen her daughter._

How could they leave this out of the retellings? How could anyone ignore Demeter’s grief, her fear? Her anger?

Her love for her daughter?

_She ran out to meet her daughter as swiftly as a Maenad runs down the mountainside. Persephone sprang into her arms and was held fast there._

She can’t remember the last time she heard her mother say I love you.

\--

Laura has never been much of a reader, though by the end of the week, she’s read the majority of the myths, searching for anything else. Every mention of Persephone’s name stops her breath, but never for long: she is not a major goddess, and the myths don’t have much to say after her kidnapping.

Her rape, by the God of the Underworld.

\--

When she returns the book to Donna, she does not mention Persephone and her mother. She guesses Donna’s favorite, Pyramus and Thisbe, so they talk about that over lunch.

As she takes her hit in the bathroom stall afterwards, she wonders if she’s the brick wall blocking Donna from her biker Pyramus. Or maybe she’s the lioness. Laura imagines bloodstains on her teeth, hopes she is the lioness.

\--

Over dinner, when her mom passes the rolls, their fingers touch for the slightest of moments. Sarah pulls her hand back, quickly, and Laura looks at her.

She wonders - not for the first time nor the last time - how loud her bed squeaks in the night, how far the sound of her headboard against the wall echoes in the dark house.

She knows that her cries carry through those walls. She does not want to believe - and yet she knows, _she knows_ \- that Sarah does, too.

\--

She sees BOB, and she sees her father.

She feels the earth split, the crushing grasp of Hades’ hand on her wrist. She feels her decent.

She lifts a hand up, for her mother.

There are no cries. There is no vengeance upon the earth, no demands made of Zeus. No threat of winter. There is deafening silence and she is forced to swallow all twelve pomegranate seeds.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, this is my first fanfic in 4 years?! Wild. I love Laura Palmer. I love Demeter and Persephone. It made sense to put them together.
> 
> Passages in italics are from Edith Hamilton's "Mythology."


End file.
